It's official.
I am completely out of the loop. Unhip. Lame. Old.
Secretly, I've suspected this for awhile now. Sure, I try to be hip. I try to be up on the latest pop-culture. I try to be at least marginally familiar with who's hot in music, tv and film. It will be a cold, cold day in hell before I watch anything with the title Jersey Shore, but thanks to The Soup, I'm at the very least aware of the existence of these walking petri dishes.
I try. Yet, as I increasingly realize, I'm not.
I've been taking up space on this planet for 40 years now, and in that time, I've seen a lot of crazy shit that is kind of hard to explain. Max Headroom, Spuds Mackenzie, Ronald Regan. Hard to explain, but you somehow kind of get it - itsort of makes sense. However, sometimes things come along that pretty much stop you dead in your tracks and leave you with your head cocked askew like the RCA dog and your mouth agape.
I have AnniThyme to thank for this latest one. Do you know AnniThyme? If not, you should. She's not your run-of-the-mill tattooed, stepdancing, Irish girl. She's a wickedly good writer with an evil sense of humor and way with words that will put a lump in your throat, who also happens to be pretty easy on the eyes (as the Future Mrs. Wonderhorse will attest, I do have a certain thing for the redheads. Put it this way, Neko Case could take me to the cleaners, and not only would I happily go, I'd thank her for taking the time out of her day). Anyway, I got an email from her this morning. "Have you seen this? If not, you need to," she says. She then links me to an article about the latest trend among the hip and young. Apparently, if you are a trendy young lass, THE thing to do is to go in, have someone wax all of your pubic hair away, and replace it with a sheet of sparkle-y cubic zirconias.
Yes. Women are BeDazzling their hoo-haa's.
That... is a new one.
I'm not even sure how I would react to seeing one of those. I'm still getting used to the pre-pubescent-girl look that so many are going for; now we have to deal with jewels? Seriously, what is the proper response to that: "Honey, I see your vagina is especially shiney tonight"? That's even before you get down to business. God forbid she flash you that thing in room of lights and mirrors - you could burn out your retnas before you even get your pants off. Maybe it's just me, but Happy Fun Time shouldn't include the possibility of chipping a tooth or losing a crown. Note to the ladies: No guy ever wants to hear a CRUNCH when taking care of business there. It's a vagina, not a bag of chips.
Also, if you are going to do all of that, what is expected of me? I mean, just because you have Velvet Betty all dressed up for the opera, don't expect me to shave the 20 Pounds of Dangling Fury down to resemble a tuxedo. That simply isn't going to happen.
There was a time when I was a lad, you got a look at one, and it looked like an aerial view of Gene Shalit. Now it looks like Liberace. Maybe we've gotten to the point where we are completely bored with our bodies, and we'll do anything we can to liven up the joint. Or maybe we're bombarded with so many bright shiny things everyday, that we don't feel complete if we don't look like a billboard in Tokyo.
Either way, the Future Mrs. Wonderhorse's birthday is coming in a couple of weeks, and I know just what I'm getting for her: a flat-screen tv.
Implanted in my ass.
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